


Drawn in Prussian Blue

by GloriousGoblinQueen



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Kidnapping, mention of Helios
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 22:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15873057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousGoblinQueen/pseuds/GloriousGoblinQueen
Summary: Persephone is kidnapped by Hades from the park, leaving her mother and her mother’s friend Hecate to find her and rescue her.





	Drawn in Prussian Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/gifts).



> 2018-09-21: edit tags for accuracy.

"Would you hand me that brush, the one with the pin-point?" Demeter asks. Her daughter, Persephone, hands it to her without looking up away from her portion of the huge canvas. Demeter is just as focused, dipping the brush into dark-colored ink and outlining a drawn figure in dark-colored paint with the fine tip. She narrows her eyes at her small work area, brow furrowed in concentration, despite her daughter's many reminders to just wear her glasses when she needs to do fine work like that. Though they're both engrossed in their respective areas of the canvas, the finished product stays in the backs of their minds, and they each work towards that goal. The end result will be a beautiful portrait of a woman holding an arm-full of flowers in full bloom, and hopefully will satisfy their patron for the year. The two of them work in near-silence until they're interrupted by knocking on the door to the studio. Startled, they look up at each other wondering who invited someone over. Persephone is the one who decides to answer the door.

* * *

Persephone can barely keep her face from twisting up in a grimace when she sees who's at the door. Hades is standing there in another one of his fine suits, something dark blue and undoubtedly expensive. He's holding a bouquet of lilies to his chest, a sign of his morbid sense of humor. She can already imagine the flowers going into the garbage bin, assuming she even accepts them this time. She's got half a mind not to.

"Lovely Persephone," he says, holding the lilies out to her. "As always, it's a pleasure to see you. Of course, I'd be even happier if you'd honor me with a date sometime."

A poorer soul would've fallen for such a smooth voice hook, line and sinker. As it is, she stares at him very unimpressed. "I already told you," she says, "I'm not interested. It's nothing personal, but I'd _really_ appreciate it if you'd stop asking. It's starting to get annoying." A hell of an understatement, she thinks.

To his credit, Hades appears to relent. He pulls the flowers back and shrugs, smiling easily. "Alright, alright, I get it. No more begging you for a date."

That's what you said the last time you were here, Persephone thinks to herself.

"I've got a far more interesting proposal for you." Hades gets himself in a comfortable lean against the door jamb, looks Persephone in the eyes and asks, "How would you like to be my personal muse?"

The laugh is out of her mouth before Persephone can even think about stopping it. It's loud like her mother's, though somewhat lighter and more musical. She covers her mouth and manages to get herself under control before speaking, even though seeing the shock on Hades' face nearly undoes her again. "Hades. _Hades_ ," she starts. "What on earth are you talking about? Be your 'personal muse'? And what exactly would that entail, hm? Standing around and looking pretty while you write?"

"Of course not!" he exclaims, indignant. "I'd have you pose for my sculptures. And the job pays much better than whatever you get here."

* * *

Persephone narrows her eyes then, not pleased with the subtle dig at her current job. "I assure you, Hades, the paycheck I get as a painter here is more than enough. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work."

She makes to close the door, but Hades won't let her. Before he can even plead his case, though, Persephone raises her voice. "Look. I already said 'no', that's my final answer, and you need to accept that!" Still, he persists, insisting on being given a chance to just discuss the deal in more detail.

Just as Persephone's thinking about calling for assistance, it comes. Demeter shows up right behind her, hair tied back from her face, and holding one of her more scary-looking painter's tools. "Is there a problem here?" she asks, a subtle threat in her voice. The question's directed at her daughter, but Demeter looks Hades dead in the eye when she asks it. There isn't a single ounce of amusement in her lightly lined face.

"No, mother," Persephone responds. She looks at him too, now. "Hades was just about to leave. Weren't you." It's not a question.

* * *

Hades truly relents this time, not wanting to earn Demeter's ire. "Yes, of course! I've got, ah, other things back home to see to." He practically books it back down the hall towards the elevator. "Have a nice day!" he calls behind himself.

* * *

After Hades' visit, Persephone gets about two weeks solid of work done before hitting a wall. It's not the first time this has happened, even the best painters can't be on all the time without fail. It is the first time it's happened while working on a commission, however, and every aborted attempt to add a figure, a paint stroke, _something_ to her portion of the canvas is another stab to her self-confidence. She spends three days like this, an endless cycle of staring at the canvas for minutes on end, getting up in a huff and flinging herself onto the couch to sulk for a while, then back to the canvas, over and over, before giving up and holing up in her room.

On the morning of the fourth day, Demeter takes pity on her daughter and offers a suggestion.

"Why not go to the park," Demeter says. Really, it's more than a suggestion, though not quite a plea. "You like the park, remember? It helps you think." Persephone looks up at her mother then. Demeter's hair is in a plait and twisted around itself into a bun at the back of her head. One hand is hooked in the handle of a mug, the other is stuffed into the pocket of her overalls. The look on her face is kind, sympathetic even, but tired. It seems Persephone hasn't been suffering entirely alone in her mood swings.

Persephone turns away and gives her mother's idea some thought. It's not a bad one, truth be told. The walls of their lovely apartment are starting to feel like they're closing in on her, and staring aimlessly at the canvas certainly isn't doing her any favors. In the middle of her thinking, she feels arms wrap around her and a warm weight settle against her back.

Demeter presses her forehead against the nape of Persephone's neck and rests it there for a few moments before speaking. "Don't let him get to you," she says quietly. Persephone knows who her mother's referring to, and though she hates to admit it, that's precisely what has her at a creative standstill. Demeter continues, "He just wants to get a rise out of you. So what you need to do is get out of here for a while, recharge your batteries, then come back and show him, the world, and that canvas back there exactly what you're made of."

Coming from anyone else, Persephone might have let a word like "corny" come to mind. Instead, she grasps one of her mother's hands and squeezes it in thanks. She ends up going to the park after all, taking only her house keys with her.

* * *

Persephone seldom bothers with any kind of blanket when she comes to the park just to relax. She lays herself right down on the ground, wanting to feel the heat of the earth and the prickling of the trimmed grass against her skin. It's warm and sunny today, only a few stray clouds in sight, so she picks a leafy tree to park herself under. There are so few people at the park this time of day, it's as though she has the place to herself. She closes her eyes, tunes in to the subtle sensations around her, and lets the ideas come, free from the pressures imposed by intimidatingly blank canvases.

Even with her eyes closed, she senses a shadow pass settle over her field of vision. She assumes it's just a cloud passing over passing in front of the sun and remains relaxed on her back in the warm grass. The only warning she gets that something's wrong is the moist cloth slammed down over the lower half of her face.

Two men have come after her, their faces covered by ski masks. The one near her head holding the cloth to her face leans his weight onto her chest and gets her arms pinned. The one near her feet pins her legs below the knee in a vice-like grip. Together, they render her struggling useless. All she can do is squirm around helplessly as the chloroform in the wet cloth takes effect. A warm haze soon settles heavily over her mind like a blanket. She's distantly aware that her attackers have gotten off of her, leaving her to slowly writhe against the ground in an uncoordinated mess of limbs, hands grasping at the grass. It isn't long before her vision goes black and she falls under. She sleeps, unaware of the men carting her off to a black limousine and depositing her in the luxurious back seat.

* * *

When early evening rolls around and her daughter isn't back yet, Demeter just shrugs it off, figuring Persephone is taking extra long to deal with the extra stress she's had.

When late evening rolls around and her daughter isn't back yet, the beginnings of worry stir at the back of Demeter's mind. She knows her daughter is capable of taking care of herself, and the park is rarely completely empty; someone would help Persephone if she needed it, right? Still, Demeter is a mother, and mothers worry about these things.

The park closes at 10 PM. Demeter lets 10:30 come and go (and hates herself for it), white-knuckled grip digging into the couch to keep from crushing the phone, before deciding to call the police. Of course, they tell her about the 24-hour waiting period before reporting someone missing. Demeter nearly curses the person out and slams the receiver down before catching herself.

"Please," she begs, "just tell me what I'm supposed to do."

She gets instructions on where to go, what papers to fill out, how long it will take. The whole time she's listening, she can't help but think of all the things that could be done to her daughter in the time it takes for the system to deem Persephone worthy of searching for.

By the time she hangs up, she's exhausted. She feels every year of her age and more, and wants little more than to sleep. She gets up off of the couch and heads to her room to do just that, when she's stopped in her tracks. She catches sight of her daughter's room, the door still cracked open the way Persephone had left it before leaving. The various playful shades of green decorating the walls, usually a soothing reminder of her daughter's presence, are like an assault on the senses now. Demeter suddenly finds the idea of trying to sleep without her daughter in the be across the hall to be nauseating. And so, she trudges back to the main room to find something to keep herself busy with. She ultimately decides on a sketchbook and a pencil, and starts doodling.

Her pencil is worn down to roughly 3/4 its length by the time Demeter lifts her head to see the sunrise peeking through the window. The floor in front of her feet is littered with sketches in various stages of completion. Several feature young women staring from the page, eyes full of pain and terror. None of this is Demeter's best work, or close to it, but she already knows she won't throw any of them away.

* * *

Sometime around noon, after a hot shower and probably too little food, Demeter gets a knock at her door. She hopes it's who she thinks it is.

Demeter opens the door to the sight of her old friend Hecate. With her dark hair in long, cascading curls and her figure clothed mostly in layers of various fabrics, she is equally intimidating and nondescript. She steps across the threshold, making sure to place a comforting hand on Demeter's shoulder.

"I'm glad you called me," she says. "Whatever it is you need me to help you with, I'll do it."

Were Demeter anyone else, she might have been taken aback by the conviction in Hecate's voice, the quiet strength there. But she knows her friend well, knows that Hecate is practically Persephone's other mother. Something in Demeter relaxes. She knows Hecate will get her through this, somehow.

The search lasts for three weeks before coming to a dead stop. Two officers are sent to her home to tell her they're calling things off, and they're very convincing. This still doesn't stop Demeter from trying to claw out the younger cop's eyes (thankfully, Hecate holds her back, as always) in a fit of...anger? Grief? Shock? Whatever it is, she's blinded by it, only distantly aware of the possibility she'll never see her little girl again.

* * *

Two months pass Demeter by in a thick, muddy haze of depression. It seems everything in the apartment, but especially her and Persephone's rooms, reminds her of her daughter, making their once happy home a prison for the bereft mother.

Hecate steps out of the kitchen holding a small bowl of soup. She places it on the coffee table in front of Demeter, knowing she will barely stir it around, maybe take a few sips, before losing interest. She figures trying to fix her friend anything substantial to eat is a waste of time, but the alternative is giving up altogether, which is not an option. She can't always be there for her friend, not when she has the responsibility of running her own shop, but she can damn well make Demeter eat a few bites when she _is_ there.

As expected, Demeter doesn't bother looking up when Hecate sits down on the couch next to her. The past two months, whenever Hecate was able to get to Demeter's place, have gone mostly the same: Hecate trying to talk to her friend, get her to eat, to paint, to do something other than stare unseeing into the distance. She's about to engage Demeter in yet another pointless, one-sided conversation when the sound of frantic knocking at the door interrupts. They both jump at the sudden noise, if Demeter's jaw twitching can be called that.

"I'll get it," Hecate says as she gets up. She tries not to feel too guilty about the unexpected relief she's getting from this awful routine they've settled into.

Whoever was at the door is nowhere to be found. There's only a small white box sitting on the ground, which she picks up and takes inside. Demeter gives the box a passing glance when Hecate comes back to the couch with it, then goes right back to staring at nothing. Hecate turns the box every which way in her lap, looking for some kind of identifying information.

"I wonder who left this. There's no name or address on it, nothing." She jiggles the lid. "The top's not even tied on."

The only contents of the box are a folded piece of paper and a black, old-looking skeleton key. Some drawing on the paper draws Hecate’s eye, and she grabs it and unfolds it gently. One side gradually reveals what looks like a map, hand-drawn yet surprisingly neat. Out of curiosity she turns it over and finds a very brief note:

> 
>     I saw a black limo. I think Persephone was in the back.
>     It pulled into Hades' underground garage. The key will get you in.
>     I'm sorry I couldn't help more.
>                                                                 -Helios

Hecate freezes, the note clutched tightly in her hands. She's met Helios before; he's the blond, handsome young man who tends the landscape on Hades' property. She wonders what Hades must have said or done to him to keep him quiet about this for so long. She flips the paper back over to scrutinize the map and sure enough, the location of the garage's entrance is marked and labeled in relation to the rest of Hades' house. She stares at the map for a few long moments, not really believing what she's looking at, before grabbing Demeter's shoulder.

"Demeter, I think you should..." Hecate puts the map in her friend's hands and makes her look at it. "You need to see this. _Please_."

Ordinarily, not even Hecate's begging would rouse her, but feeling Hecate shaking her drags Demeter out of her stupor a bit. She looks down at the map, not really understanding what she's looking at. A dull sort of anger rises in her at seeing Hades' name in various places, but other than that, she shows no emotion. Then, Hecate flips the map over and tells her to read what's written. Demeter scrunches her face up in confusion.

"What is this?" she asks. "What's this supposed to mean?"

"Don't you get it? This is where Persephone is! We know where your daughter is, Demeter, we can get her back!"

Demeter tears herself away from Hecate's grasp and scoffs. "We don't know anything. _Nobody_ knows anything," she says, still bitter over the way authorities closed her daughter's case.

"Demeter, I don't believe Helios would bother with this unless he was absolutely certain it was Persephone he saw. He would know, he works for Hades--"

"As a gardener!"

"Yes, meaning he knows the outside areas of Hades' property well! If one of Hades' cars came back with someone inside, it's entirely possible he would have seen it."

It's clear that Demeter still doesn't believe her, doesn't believe that Persephone could suddenly be within their grasp after so long. She tries a different approach.

"Alright. Let's assume Helios is mistaken. I know for a fact that this key is the only existing copy, meaning that Hades will notice if it's gone." She looks Demeter in the eye. "Do you honestly think that Helios is stupid enough to risk his job, if not his life, by giving us a way into Hades' private property--without his permission--just on a guess?"

This gives Demeter pause. Helios may be young, but he's no fool.

The lost look on Demeter's face inspires a deep ache of sympathy in Hecate, and she tightly embraces her still grieving friend. "I know. I know this hurts, I miss her too. But we have to take a chance on this. The justice system has already let her down, we can't do the same."

They hold each other, and it's a long time before Demeter speaks. Hecate is pretty sure she's crying, but doesn't mention it to preserve the progress Demeter's made so far.

"I need this to be real," Demeter says quietly.

"I know. It _is_ real, and we're going to get her back. I promise."

* * *

They go to Hades' place the following night.

The taxi driver that dropped them off a quarter mile from the premises thankfully didn't ask any questions, despite recognizing the area. Getting to the rear of the house is easy, suspiciously so.

"Hmm. Odd that the rear gate is unlocked," Hecate says. "I don't suppose he's out." She casts the light of her lantern about, trying to illuminate the area and watch for obstacles. Demeter says nothing, just marches onward with her fist closed tightly around a steel crowbar. They make their way up the paved driveway to where the entrance to the underground garage should be. The heavy double door is sunk into the ground. It unlocks with the old black key, and it takes both their strength to open it.

Neither of them expects Persephone on the other side of the door. They embrace her anyway, glad to have her back.


End file.
